open and carefree laughter was still ringing in her ear when she said, ‘Goodnight, Sean. See you tomorrow.’ And she pressed the red button then turned the phone off.
Goodnight, Sean. Sleep tight.
Tea, glorious tea. A celebration of teas from around the world.
Finding the perfect tea to drink with your meal is just as tricky as matching food and wine. One tip: green tea flavoured with jasmine is wonderful with Chinese food but serve it weak and in small cups, and add more hot water to the pot as you drink. And no hangover!
From Flynn’s Phantasmagoria of Tea
Friday
It was almost six on the Friday evening before Dee was finally satisfied that all of the leaf-tea canisters were full, the tea pots were all washed and ready for the Saturday rush and that everything the tea rooms needed for an eight a.m. start was in place.
But she still insisted on helping Lottie load the dishwashers, then cleaned the floor and generally got in the way of the last-minute customers, until Lottie had to physically grab her shoulders and plop her into a chair with a steaming cup of chamomile until the closed sign was up on the door.
Whipping away her apron, Lottie poured a cup of Assam and collapsed down opposite Dee with a low, long sigh before stretching out her legs.
Her fingers wrapped around the china cup and Lottie inhaled the aroma before taking a sip. Her shoulders instantly dropped several inches.
‘Oh, I am so ready for this. When did Fridays get so mad?’
‘When you decided to have a two-for-one offer on afternoon cream teas, that’s when. I have never served so much Indian tea in one session. How many batches of scones did you end up making?’
Lottie snorted. ‘Six. And four extra coffee-and-walnut cakes, and three chocolate. And I gave up counting the sandwiches. But the good news is...it worked. The till is full of loot which I will be taking to the bank before the lovely Sean picks up his princess to take her to the ball.’
‘The ball? I’m not so sure that I would call a management dinner a “ball”. But the food should be good and apparently all the Beresford clan will be there en masse to toast the staff. So there’s a fair chance I will score a free glass of fizz.’
Lottie cradled the cup in both hands and sat back in her chair. ‘Ah. So that’s what the problem is,’ she said, then blew on her tea before taking a long sip. ‘For the next few hours you are going to be up close and personal with Sean’s father and his swanky brother and sister, and you’re feeling the pressure. I see.’
‘Pressure? I don’t know what you mean. Just because his dad founded a huge chain of luxury hotels, and Sean’s older brother, Rob the celebrity chef, is flying in from New York especially for the occasion, it doesn’t mean that the family will be snooty and look down their noses at me.’ Dee flashed a glance at Lottie. ‘Does it?’
‘No, not at all. Why should they? And if my experience of management meetings is anything to go by, the owners will be way too busy talking to the staff and making sure they feel the love to worry about extra guests.’
Then Lottie leant her elbows on the table and grinned. ‘Think of it this way—you are going to a great night out in a lovely hotel on the arm of a handsome prince. You are a goddess! What can possibly go wrong?’
Dee choked on the tea that went down the wrong way and had to grab a couple of napkins to stop her from spraying Lottie with chamomile through her nose.
‘Are you kidding me?’ she spluttered. ‘I have a long list of things that could go wrong, and the more I think about it the more opportunities I have to put my foot in it. Everything from what I am going to wear, which is a nightmare, right through to my total inability to control the words that spill out of my mouth.’
Her hands came up and made circles in the air. ‘And, when it does all go wrong, I can wave goodbye to my free conference centre and any chance I have of finding a replacement venue at this short notice for the tea festival and—’ she swallowed ‘—show Sean up at the same time. Now, isn’t that something to look forward to?’
She slid her cup out of the way and dropped her head forward until it rested on the table. ‘I am doomed.’
Lottie shook her head and smiled. ‘What rubbish. Do you remember that first day we met in catering college? I had come straight out of the business world, had no clue what to expect and turned up to the first morning wearing a designer skirt-suit, four-inch heels and a silk blouse. I thought that the first morning would be paperwork and class schedules, just like university. Instead of which, I spent the whole day gutting fish and making white sauces.’
Dee put her head to one side and sniffed. ‘It was a different look, I’ll give you that.’
‘So you said—right before you passed me your new chef’s coat and trousers.’
‘I had spares. You hadn’t,’ Dee replied, sitting up, her shoulders slumped. ‘The funniest thing was when you had them bleached and starched at some posh dry cleaners overnight. It was hilarious.’
‘It was kind of you to offer me them in the first place. Which is why it is time for me to return the favour. I cannot believe I am saying this, because I think all your clothes are brilliant and suit you perfectly, but if you’re worried about not having a cocktail dress to impress Sean’s family then I can probably help you out.’
‘You’re going to lend me one of your fancy posh frocks?’ Dee asked in a quiet voice, eyebrows high.
Lottie nodded her head. Just once.
Dee propped her chin up with one finger and looked up at Lottie through her long, brown eyelashes.
‘And the shoes and bag to match?’
‘Natch!’ Her friend slurped down the last of her tea and rolled her shoulders back. ‘Good thing we take the same shoe size. Come on; we have a lot to do and not much time to do it in. You, my girl, are going to take time out and celebrate just how much you’ve achieved whether you like it or not. Let the makeover begin.’
An hour later Dee paced up and down on the bedroom carpet in bare feet, her hands on her hips as she moved from her bed to the wardrobe, then back to the bottom of her bed again.
It was quiet in her bedroom. A chilly, gentle breeze fluttered the edge of the heavy curtains, bringing with it the welcome sound of chatter and traffic from the street below. The sound of normal people living normal Friday-evening lives.
But inside the room the atmosphere was anything but calm.
She stretched out her hand to lift the black fitted cocktail dress from the hanger, then froze. Again.
She blinked at the dress hanging on the wardrobe door for several seconds, nodded, then slipped her feet into Lottie’s favourite stiletto-heeled sandals and tried a few tenuous steps. Lottie had told her that she should practise walking in them in case she had to take the stairs in the hotel. Four-inch heels with a platform slab under the toes were going to take some getting used to.
Two steps. Three. Then her right foot toppled over sideways on the slippery couture leather and she had to grab hold of the wardrobe door before she almost twisted her ankle as it bent over.
These were not shoes! They were instruments of torture, which had clearly been designed by men who hated their mothers and were determined to make all women suffer as a result. That was the only possible explanation!
And it did not matter one bit if they had pristine red soles if she couldn’t walk in them.
Her shoulders slumped and she rested her forehead on the waxed oak panel, not caring that she might destroy the make-up which had taken Lottie an hour to put on, wipe off, then put on again in a different way.
She